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I'VE      GOT     TO     GET     TO      GLOUCESTER,      SIR!" 


A  CHARIOT 
OF    FIRE 


BY 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
MCMX 


Copyright,  1905,  1910,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

Published  October,  1910. 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


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ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  I've  Got  to  Get  to  Gloucester,  Sir  1"       Frontispiece 
The  Flowers  in  the  Front  Yard  were 

Knee-Deep  in  Snow  ,     .     .     .     .    Facing  p.  40 


M287883 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 


A    CHARIOT   OF   FIRE 


HEN  the  "White  Mountain  express 
to  Boston  stopped  at  Beverly,  it 
slowed  up  reluctantly,  crashed  off 
the  baggage,  and  dashed  on  with 
the  nervousness  of  a  train  that  is 
unmercifully  and  unpardonably  late. 

It  was  a  September  night,  and  the  channel 
of  home-bound  summer  travel  was  clogged 
and  heaving. 

A  middle-aged  man — a  plain  fellow,  who 
was  one  of  the  Beverly  passengers — stood 
for  a  moment  staring  at  the  tracks.  The 
danger-light  from  the  rear  of  the  onrushing 

train  wavered  before  his  eyes,  and  looked 
I 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

like  a  splash  of  blood  that  was  slowly  wiped 
out  by  the  night*  It  was  foggy,  and  the 
atmosphere  clang  like  a  sponge* 

"  No/'  he  muttered,  "  it's  the  other  way* 
Batty's  the  other  way*" 

He  turned,  facing  towards  the  branch  road 
which  carries  the  great  current  of  North 
Shore  life* 

44  How  soon  can  I  get  to  Gloucester?"  he 
demanded  of  one  who  brushed  against  him 
heavily*  He  who  answered  proved  to  be  of 
the  baggage  staff,  and  was  at  that  moment 
skilfully  combining  a  frown  and  a  whistle 
behind  a  towering  truck;  from  this  two 
trunks  and  a  dress-suit  case  threatened  to 
tumble  on  a  bull-terrier  leashed  to  some 
thing  invisible,  and  yelping  in  the  darkness 
behind* 

44  Lord!  This  makes  'leven  dogs,  cats  to 
burn,  twenty  -  one  baby  -  carriages,  and  a 
guinea-pig  travellin'  over  this  blamed  road 
2 


A  CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

since  yesterday —  What's  that?  Glouces 
ter) — 6*45  to-morrow  morning/' 

44  Oh,  but  look  here!"  cried  the  plain  pas 
senger,  44  that  won't  do.  I  have  got  to  get 
to  Gloucester  to-night/' 

"So's  this  bull-terrier,"  groaned  the 
baggage-handler*  "  He  got  switched  off 
without  his  folks — and  I've  got  a  pet  lamb 
in  the  baggage-room  bleatin'  at  the  corpora 
tion  since  dinner-time*  Some  galoot  forgot 
the  crittur.  There's  a  lost  parrot  settin' 
alongside  that  swears  in  several  foreign  lan 
guages.  I  wish  to  Moses  I  could ! " 

The  passenger  experienced  the  dull  sur 
prise  of  one  in  acute  calamity  who  wonders 
that  another  man  can  jest.  He  turned  with 
out  remark,  and  went  to  the  waiting-room; 
he  limped  a  little,  for  he  was  slightly 
lame*  The  ticket-master  was  locking  the 
door  of  the  office,  and  looked  sleepy  and 

fagged. 

3 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

44  Where's  the  train  to  Gloucester?" 

44  Gone." 

"Taln't^we?" 

"  Gone  half  an  hour  ago/' 

The  official  pointed  to  the  clock,  on  whose 
face  an  ominous  expression  seemed  to  rest, 
and  whose  hands  marked  the  hour  of  half- 
past  twelve* 

44  But  I  have  got  to  get  to  Gloucester!" 
answered  the  White  Mountain  passenger. 
44  We  had  a  naccident.  We're  late.  I  ain't 
much  used  to  travellin' — I  supposed  they'd 
wait  for  us.  I  tell  you  I've  got  to  get 
there !" 

In  his  agitation  he  gripped  the  arm  of  the 
other,  who  threw  the  grasp  off  instinctively. 

44  You'll  have  to  walk,  then.  You  can't 
get  anything  now  till  the  newspaper  train." 

"God!"  gasped  the  belated  passenger. 
44  I've  got  a  little  boy.  He's  dying." 

44  Sho!"  said  the  ticket-master.  44  That's 
4 


A  CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

too  bad.  Can  you  afford  a  team?  You 
might  try  the  stables.  There's  one  or  two 
around  here." 

The  ticket-master  locked  the  doors  of  the 
station  and  walked  away,  but  did  not  go  far. 
A  humane  uneasiness  disturbed  him,  and  he 
returned  to  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  use 
to  the  afflicted  passenger. 

44  Fll  show  you  the  way  to  the  nearest,"  he 
began,  kindly. 

But  the  man  had  gone. 

In  the  now  dimly  lighted  town  square  he 
was,  in  fact,  zigzagging  about  alone,  with  the 
loping  gait  of  a  lame  man  in  a  feverish 
hurry* 

"There  must  be  hosses,"  he  muttered, 
"and  places.  "Why,  yes.  Here's  one,  first 
thing." 

Into  the  livery-stable  he  entered  so  heavily 
that  he  seemed  to  fall  in.  His  cheap  straw 
hat  was  pushed  back  from  his  head;  he  was 
5 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

flushed,  and  his  eyes  were  too  bright;  his 
hair,  which  was  red  and  coarse,  lay  matted 
on  his  forehead* 

44 1  want  a  team/'  he  began,  on  a  high, 
sharp  key.  44  Fve  got  to  get  to  Gloucester. 
The  train's  gone/' 

A  sleepy  groom,  who  scowled  at  him, 
turned  on  a  suspicious  heel.  44  You're  drunk. 
It's  fourteen  miles.  It  would  cost  you 
more'n  you're  worth." 

"  I've  got  a  little  boy,"  repeated  the  lame 
man.  4*  He's  dying." 

The  groom  wheeled  back.  "  That  so? 
Why,  that's  a  pity.  I'd  like  to  'commodate 
you.  See?  I'm  here  alone — see?  Idarsen't 
go  so  far  without  orders*  Boss  is  home  and 
abed." 

44  He  got  hurt  in  an  accident,"  pleaded  the 

father.    "  I  come  from  up  to  Conway.    I 

went  to  bury  my  uncle.    They  sent  me  a 

telegraph   about   my   little   boy.    I   ain't 

6 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

drank.  They  sent  me  the  telegraph*  I've 
got  to  get  home/' 

"  I'll  let  you  sleep  here  along  of  me,"  sug 
gested  the  groom,  "  but  I  daresn't  leave* 
I'm  responsible  to  the  boss.  There's  other 
places  you  might  get  one.  I'll  show  you* 
See  ?  I'd  try  'em  all  if  I  was  you." 

But  again  the  man  was  gone. 

By  the  time  he  had  found  another  stable 
his  manner  had  changed;  he  had  become 
deprecating,  servile.  He  entreated,  he 
trembled;  he  flung  his  emergency  at  the 
feet  of  the  watchman;  he  reiterated  his 
phrase: 

44  I've  got  a  little  boy,  if  you  please.  He's 
dying.  I've  got  to  get  to  Gloucester —  I 
live  in  Squam." 

"  I  don't  like  to  refuse  you,"  protested  the 
night-watchman,  "but  two  of  my  horses 
are  lame,  and  one  is  plumb  used  up  carry 
ing  summer  folks.  I'm  dreadful  short.  I 
7 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

haven't  a  team  to  my  name  I  could  put 
on  the  road  to  Gloucester*  It's — why,  to 
Squam  it's  seventeen  miles— thirty-four  the 
round  trip.  It  would  cost  you — " 

44  FH  pay!"  cried  the  lame  man;  4i  Til  pay. 
I  ain't  beggin'*" 

44  I'm  sorry  I  haven't  got  a  horse/'  apolo 
gized  the  watchman*  "  It  would  cost  you 
ten  dollars  if  I  had*  But  I  hain't." 

"  Ten  </o//ars?"  The  traveller  echoed  the 
words  stupidly* 

44  I'm  sorry;  fact.  I  am,"  urged  the  watch 
man.  "  Won't  you  set  'n'  rest  a  spell?" 

But  the  visitor  had  vanished  from  the 
office* 

Twenty  minutes  after,  the  door-bell  of  a 
home  in  the  old  residence  portion  of  the  town 
rang  violently  and  pealed  through  the  sleep 
ing  house. 

It  was  a  comfortable,  not  a  new-fashioned, 
8 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

house,  sometimes  leased  to  summer  citizens, 
and  modernized  in  a  measure  for  their  con 
venience;  one  of  the  few  of  its  kind  within 
reach  of  the  station,  and  by  no  means 
near* 

When  the  master  of  the  family  had  turned 
on  all  the  burglar  electricity  and  could  get 
the  screen  up,  he  put  his  head  out  of  the 
window,  and  so  perceived  on  his  door-step 
a  huddled  figure  with  a  white,  uplifted 
face* 

A  shaking  voice  came  up: 
"  Sir?    Be  you  a  gentleman?" 
"  I  hope  so/'  went  down  the  quiet  reply* 
"  But  I  can't  remember  that  I  was  ever 
asked  that  question  at  this  time  of  morning 
before/' 

"  Be  you  a  Christian?"  insisted  the  voice 
from  below* 

"  Sometimes — perhaps,"  went  down  the 
voice  from  above* 

9 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

The  voice  from  below  came  up:  "  Sir! 
Sir!  Fm  in  great  trouble.  For  the  love  of 
Christ ,  sir,  come  down,  quick!" 

"Why,  of  course/'  said  the  voice  from 
above* 

The  man  stood  quite  still  when  the  great 
bolts  of  the  door  shot  through  their  grooves. 
Against  a  background  of  electric  brilliance 
he  saw  a  gentleman  in  pajamas  and  bath 
robe,  with  slippers  as  soft  as  a  lady's  on  his 
white  feet.  The  face  of  the  gentleman  was 
somewhat  fixed  and  guarded;  his  features 
were  carefully  cut,  behind  their  heavy  coat 
of  seaside  tan. 

"Well/'  he  said,  "that  was  a  pretty 
solemn  adjuration.  What  is  it?" 

"  I  want  to  get  a  team,"  stammered  the 
figure  on  the  steps.  Suddenly,  somehow, 
his  courage  had  begun  to  falter.  He  felt 
the  enormity  of  his  intrusion.  He  came  up 
against  the  mystery  of  social  distinctions; 
(0 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

his  great  human  emergency  seemed  to  be 
distanced  by  the  little  thing  men  call  dif 
ference  of  class. 

"  You  want — to  get — a  team?"  repeated 
the  gentleman;  he  spoke  slowly,  without 
irritation*  *  You  have  made  a  mistake. 
This  is  not  a  livery-stable." 

44  Livery-stable!"  cried  the  intruder,  with 
a  swift  and  painful  passion.  "  I've  tried 
three!  Fust  one  hadn't  any  boss.  Next 
one  hadn't  any  hoss.  It  was  ten  dollars  if  he 
had.  Last  one  wanted  'leven  dollars,  pay 
in  advance.  I've  got  four  dollars  'n'  sixteen 
cents  in  my  pocket.  I've  been  up  to  Con- 
way  to  bury  my  uncle.  My  folks  sent  me  a 
telegraph.  My  little  boy — he's  had  an  acci 
dent*  My  train  was  late.  I've  got  to  get 
to  Gloucester,  sir.  So  I  thought,"  added 
the  traveller,  simply,  "  I'd  ask  one  of  the 
neighbors.  Neighbors  is  most  gener'lly 

kind.    Up  our  way  they  be.    Sir — could 
n 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

you  let  me  have  a  team  to  see  my  little  boy 
before — in  case — he  dies?" 

44  Come  inside  a  minute,"  replied  the 
gentleman. 

The  words,  which  had  begun  shortly,  end 
ed  softly*  44  Perfectly  sober/'  he  thought. 
His  fingers  stole  to  the  button  of  a  bell  as 
the  stranger  stepped  into  the  hall. 

"  Yes — I'll  send  you  over.  What's  your 
name?" 

44  Dryver,  sir.    Jacob  Dryver." 

44  Where  do  you  live?" 

44  Squam." 

44  Annisquam?  That  is  several  miles  be 
yond  Gloucester.  Your  trouble  is  too  swift 
for  horses.  I  have  rung  for  my  chauffeur. 
I'll  send  you  in  the  automobile.  Be  so  good 
as  to  step  around  to  the  stables,  Mr.  Dryver. 
I'll  join  you  outside." 

Now  the  voice  of  a  sleepy  child  could  be 

heard  overhead;   it  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
J2 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

say  "  Popper!  Popper !"  A  woman's  figure 
drifted  to  the  top  of  the  padded  stairs.  The 
intruder  caught  a  gleam  of  delicate  white 
drapery  floating  with  laces,  closely  gathered 
at  the  throat,  and  held  with  one  ringed  hand 
— as  if  it  had  been  hastily  thrown  on*  The 
door  shut,  and  the  bolts  shot  again*  Jacob 
Dryver  felt  that  he  was  at  once  trusted  and 
distrusted;  he  could  not  have  said  why  he 
did  not  go  to  the  stables,  but  sat  down  on 
the  broad  granite  steps*  His  knees  hung 
apart;  his  elbows  dropped  to  them;  his  face 
fell  into  his  hands* 

The  child  above  continued  to  call:  "  Pop 
per!  Popper!"  Then  the  little  voice  trailed 
away* 

44  It's  smaller  'n  Batty/'  Jacob  said* 
When  he  lifted  his  head  from  his  hands, 
up  the  curving  avenue  an  automobile  was 
sweeping  upon  him*    Its  acetylene  lanterns 

blazed  like  the  eyes  of  some  prehistoric 
J3 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

thing;  but  this  simple  fellow  knew  nothing 
about  prehistoric  things.  The  lanterns  re 
minded  him  of  the  living  creatures  that 
Ezekiel  saw*  Such  imagination  as  he  had 
was  Biblically  trained,  and  leaped  from 
Ezekiel  to  Elijah  easily* 

44  It's  a  chariot  of  fire/'  thought  Jacob 
Dryver,  "  comin'  for  to  carry  me  home/' 

As  he  gathered  himself  and  went  to  meet 
the  miracle,  a  dark  figure,  encased  in 
rubber  armor  from  foot  to  head,  brought 
the  carriage  to  a  swift  and  artistic 
stop. 

"Are  you  the  shove-her?"  asked  Jacob, 
timidly. 

44 1  am  not  the  shove-her/'  replied  the 
figure  at  the  brake,  "and  I  hope  I  sha'n't 
have  to  be.  I  am  Mr.  Chester.  My  chauf 
feur  is  not  at  home,  I  find.  I  shall  drive 
you  to  Annisquam  myself." 

"You're  takin'  some  trouble,  sir,"  said 
14 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

Jacob,  slowly*  His  head  reeled.  He  felt 
that  he  was  growing  stupid  under  the  whirl 
wind  of  events*  He  went  down  the  long 
steps  like  a  lame  blind  man*  As  he  did 
so  the  bolts  of  the  door  behind  him  leaped 
back  again*  and  the  lady  ran  down  and  slid 
into  the  automobile*  The  fog  glittered  on 
the  laces  of  her  white  woollen  garment* 
Her  husband  thought  of  it  as  a  negligee, 
but  Jacob  called  it  a  wrapper*  She  was  a 
dainty  lady,  and  fair  to  look  upon;  her  hair 
lay  in  long,  bright  braids  upon  her  shoulders; 
she  had  caught  up  an  automobile  coat  and 
cap,  which  she  flung  across  her  arm*  Dry- 
ver  heard  her  say:  "I  shall  be— a  little 
anxious*  After  all,  you  know  nothing 
about  him*  Mayn't  I  go?" 

"And  leave  Bert  ?    I  don't  think  I  would, 

Mary*    I've  told  James  to  sit  up  and  watch* 

Draw  the  big  bolt  on  top,  and  keep  the 

lights  all  on*     If  I  have  good  luck  I  shall  be 

J5 


A    CHARIOT   OF  FIRE 

back  in  less  than  two  hours.  Good-bye, 
Mary — dear/' 

The  last  word  lingered  with  the  caressing 
accent  which  only  long-tried  marriage  love 
ever  puts  into  it*  The  lips  of  the  two  met 
silently,  and,  drooping,  the  lady  melted 
away.  Jacob  Dryver  found  himself  in  the 
automobile,  speeding  down  the  avenue  to 
the  silent  street.  He  looked  back  once  at 
the  house.  Every  pane  of  glass  was  blaz 
ing  as  if  the  building  were  on  fire. 

"  You'll  find  it  colder  than  you  expect/' 
observed  Mr.  Chester.  "  I  brought  along 
Thomas's  coat.  Put  it  on — and  hold  on. 
Never  in  one  of  these  before,  were  you?" 

44  N-no,  sir,"  chattered  Jacob  Dryver. 
"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  n-never  was." 

He  clung  to  the  side  of  the  seat  desper 
ately.  In  fact,  he  was  very  much  fright 
ened*  But  he  would  have  gone  under  the 
heavy  wheels  before  he  would  have  owned  it. 
16 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

Spinning  through  the  deserted  Beverly 
streets  the  automobile  took  what  seemed  to 
him  a  startling  pace* 

44  I'm  going  slowly  till  we  get  otrt  of  town/' 
remarked  Mr*  Chester*  44  Once  on  the  Man 
chester  road  F1I  let  her  oat  a  bit." 

Jacob  made  no  reply*  What  had  seemed 
to  be  fog  drenched  and  drowned  him  now 
like  driving  rain*  There  had  been  no  wind* 
but  now  the  powers  and  principalities  of  the 
air  were  let  loose*  He  gasped  for  breath, 
which  was  driven  down  his  throat*  That 
made  him  think  of  Batty,  whom,  for  the 
moment,  he  had  actually  forgotten.  When 
people  died— they  could  not—  Had  Batty 
— by  this  time — it  was  so  long — should  he 
find  that  Batty— 

44  What  ails  your  boy?"  asked  the  half- 
invisible  figure  from  the  depths  of  its  rubber 
armor, 

44 1  had  a  telegraph,"  said  Jacob,  monoto- 
17 


A    CHARIOT   OF  FIRE 

nously.  "  I  never  was  away  from  home  so 
far — I  ain't  used  to  travellin*.  I  supposed 
the  train  would  wait  for  the  accident*  The 
telegraph  said  he  was  hart  bad.  I  got  it 
just  as  the  fun'ril  was  leavin'  the  house*  I 
had  to  quit  it,  corpse  'n'  all — for  Batty.  I 
ran  all  the  way  to  the  depot.  I  just  got 
aboard,  and  here  I  be  becalmed  all  night — 
and  there  is  Batty. — His  name  is  Batwing," 
added  the  father.  "He  was  named  after 
the  uncle  I  went  to  bury.  But  we  call  him 
Batty/' 

"  Any  more  children  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Chester,  in  the  cultivated,  compassionate 
voice  which  at  once  attracted  and  estranged 
the  breaking  heart  of  Jacob  Dryver. 

"  We  haven't  only  Batty,  sir,"  he  choked. 

The  hand  on  the  lever  tightened;  the 
throttle  opened;  the  dark  figure  in  the  rub 
ber  coat  bent,  and  its  muscles  turned  to  iron. 

The  automobile  began  to  rock  and  fly.    It 
18 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

was  now  whirling  out  upon  the  silent,  sleep 
ing  road  that  goes  by  the  great  houses  of 
the  North  Shore. 

44  I'll  let  her  out  a  little/'  said  Mr.  Chester, 
quietly.  "Don't  worry.  We'll  get  there 
before  you  know  it." 

The  car  took  on  a  considerable  pace. 
Jacob's  best  straw  hat  flew  off,  but  he  did 
not  mention  it.  His  red  hair  stood  endwise, 
all  ways,  on  his  head;  his  eyes  started;  his 
hands  gripped— one  at  the  rail,  one  at  the 
knee  of  his  companion.  The  wind  raised  by 
the  motion  of  the  car  became  a  gale  and 
forced  itself  into  his  lungs.  Jacob  gasped: 

44  It's— on  account— of  Batty." 

"  I  have  a  little  boy  of  my  own,"  observed 
Mr.  Chester.  Plainly  thinking  to  divert  the 
attention  of  the  anguished  father,  he  con 
tinued:  "He  had  an  accident  this  summer — 
he  was  hurt  by  a  scythe;  he  slipped  away 
from  his  nurse.  He  was  pretty  badly  hurt. 
19 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

I  was  away — I  hurried  from  Bar  Harbor  to 
get  to  him.     I  think  I  know  how  you  feel/' 

44  Did  you  have  a  telegraph,  sir?"  asked 
Dryver,  rousing  to  the  throb  of  the  common 
human  pulse. 

*  Yes,  there  was  a  telegram.  But  I  was 
a  good  while  getting  it.  I  understand  your 
position/' 

"  Did  he  ever  get  over  it — your  little  boy? 
Oh,  I  see;  that  was  him  I  heard.  '  Popper/ 
he  says—'  Popper/  " 

Above  the  whir  of  the  automobile,  above 
the  chatter  of  the  exhaust,  above  the  voice 
of  the  wind,  the  sound  of  a  man's  muffled 
groan  came  distinctly  to  the  ear  that  was 
fine  enough  to  hear  it. 

44  Trust  me,"  said  Chester,  gently.  44  I'll 
get  you  there.  I'll  get  you  to  your  boy." 

The  gentleman's  face  was  almost  as  white 
now  as  Jacob  Dryver's.    The  fog  glistened 
upon  his  mustache  and  made  him  look  a 
20 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

gray-haired  man,  as  he  emerged  from  gulfs 
of  darkness  and  shot  by  widely  scattered 
dim  street  lamps*  Both  men  had  acquired 
something  of  the  same  expression — the  rude 
face  and  the  finished  one;  both  wore  the 
solemn,  elemental  look  of  fatherhood* 

The  heart  of  one  repeated  piteously: 
"It's  Batty." 

But  the  other  thought:  "  What  if  it  were 
Bert?" 

44  I'll  let  her  out  a  little  more/'  repeated 
Chester.  The  car  throbbed  and  rocked  to 
the  words* 

"How  do  you  like  my  machine?"  he 
added*  in  a  comfortable  voice.  He  felt  that 
the  mercury  of  emotion  had  mounted  too 
far.  "Mrs.  Chester  has  named  her/'  he 
proceeded.  "  We  call  her  Aurora." 

"Hey?" 

"  We've  named  the  machine  Aurora*  I 
said*" 

21 


A    CHARIOT   OF  FIRE 

"'Roarer/  sir?" 

44  Oh,  well,  that  will  do—'  Roarer/  if  you 
like.  That  isn't  bad.  It's  an  improvement, 
perhaps.  By-the-way,  how  did  you  happen 
on  my  place  to-night?  There  are  a  good 
many  nearer  the  station;  you  had  quite  a 
walk/' 

44 1  see  a  little  pair  o'  reins  an'  bells  in 
the  grass  alongside — such  as  little  boys  play 
horse  with.  We  had  one  once  for  Batty, 
sir." 

"Ahl  Was  that  it?  What's  your  busi 
ness,  Dryver?  You  haven't  told  me*  Do 
you  fish?" 

44  Winters,  I  make  paving-stones.  Sum 
mers,  I  raise  vegetables,"  replied  Jacob 
Dryver.  44  I'm  a  kind  of  a  quarry-farmer. 
My  woman  she  plants  flowers  for  the  sum 
mer  folks,  and  Batty  bunches  'em  up  and 
delivers  'em.  Batty— he—God!  My  God! 

Mebbe  there  ain'i  any  Batty— 
22 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

The  sentence  broke*  In  truth,  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  find  its  remnants  in  the 
sudden  onset  of  sound  made  by  the  motion 
of  the  machine, 

The  car  was  freed  now  to  the  limit  of  her 
mighty  strength.  She  took  great  leaps  like 
those  of  a  living  heart  that  is  overexcited. 
Powerfully,  perfectly,  without  let  or  hin 
drance,  without  flaw  or  accident,  the  chariot 
of  fire  bounded  through  the  night,  A  trail 
of  smoke  like  the  tail  of  a  comet  followed  her* 
The  dark  scenery  of  the  guarded  shore  flew 
by;  Montserrat  was  behind;  Prides'  was 
gone;  the  Farms  blew  past. 

They  were  now  well  out  upon  the  beauti 
ful,  silent  Manchester  road,  where  the  woods, 
solemn  at  noonday,  are  sinister  at  dead  of 
night.  The  automobile,  flying  through 
them,  encountered  no  answering  sign  of 
life.  Both  men  had  ceased  to  speak.  Awe 

fell  upon  them,  as  if  in  the  presence  of 
23 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

more  than  natural  things.  Once  it  seemed 
to  Dryver  as  if  he  saw  a  boy  running  beside 
the  machine — a  little  fellow,  white,  like  a 
spirit,  and,  like  a  spirit,  silent.  Chester's 
hands  had  stiffened  to  the  throttle;  his  face 
had  the  stern  rigidity  of  those  on  whom  life 
or  human  souls  absolutely  depend.  Neither 
man  spoke  now  aloud. 

To  himself  Jacob  Dryver  repeated:  "  It's 
Batty  !  It's  my  Batty!" 

And  Hurlburt  Chester  thought :  "  What 
if  it  were  Bert?" 

Now  the  great  arms  of  the  sea  began  to 
open  visibly  before  them.  The  fog  on  their 
lips  grew  salter,  and  they  seemed  to  have 
entered  the  Cave  of  the  Winds.  Slender 
beach  and  sturdy  headland  slid  by.  West 
Manchester,  Manchester,  Magnolia  rushed 
past.  In  the  Magnolia  woods  they  lost  the 
sea  again;  but  the  bell-buoy  called  from 
Norman's  Woe,  and  they  could  hear  the  moan 
24 


A    CHARIOT   OF  FIRE 

of  the  whistling-buoy  off  Eastern  Point.  In 
the  Cape  Ann  Light  the  fog  bell  was  tolling. 

At  the  pace  which  the  car  was  taking  there 
was  an  element  of  danger  in  the  situation 
which  Jacob  Dry  ver  could  not  measure,  since 
he  feared  safety  ignorantly  and  met  peril 
with  composure.  Chester  reduced  the  speed 
a  little,  and  yet  a  little  more,  but  pushed  on 
steadily*  Once  Jacob  spoke. 

44  I'll  bet  your  shove-her  couldn't  drive 
like  you  do,"  he  said,  proudly. 

Fresh  Water  Cove  slipped  by;  Old  Stage 
Fort  was  behind  ;  the  Aurora  bumped  over 
the  pavement  of  the  Cut,  and  reeled  through 
the  rough  and  narrow  streets  of  Gloucester. 
He  of  Beverly  was  familiar  with  the  route, 
and  asked  no  questions*  The  car,  now 
tangled  among  electric  tracks,  swung  around 
the  angle  from  Main  Street  carefully,  jarred 
across  the  railroad,  and  took  the  winding, 

dim  road  to  Annisquam. 
25 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

Bay  View  flew  behind — the  bridge — the 
village — the  pretty  arcade  known  as  Sqtiam 
Willows.  The  automobile  dashed  into  it 
and  oat  of  it  as  if  it  were  a  tunnel.  Then 
Dry ver  gripped  the  other's  arm  and,  without 
a  word,  pointed. 

The  car  followed  the  guidance  of  his  shak 
ing  finger,  and,  like  a  conscious  creature, 
swung  to  a  startling  stop. 

There  were  lights  in  the  quarryman's  cot 
tage,  and  shadows  stirred  against  drawn 
shades.  Jacob  Dryver  tumbled  out  and 
ran.  He  did  not  speak,  nor  by  a  gesture 
thank  his  Beverly  "  neighbor."  Chester 
slowly  unbuttoned  his  rubber  coat  and  got  at 
his  watch.  The  Aurora  had  covered  the 
distance — in  dark  and  fog,  over  seventeen 
miles — in  fifty-six  minutes.  Now,  Jacob, 
dashing  in,  had  left  the  door  open,  and 
Chester,  as  he  put  his  watch  back  into  its 

pocket,  heard  that  which  sent  the  blood 
26 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

driving  through  his  arteries  as  the  power  had 
driven  the  pumps  of  the  car.  The  sound 
that  he  heard  was  the  fretful  moan  of  a  hurt 
child. 

As  he  had  admitted,  he  was  a  Christian — 
sometimes;  and  he  said,  "  Oh,  thank  God!" 
with  all  his  generous  heart.  Indeed,  as  he 
did  so,  he  took  off  his  heavy  cap  and  bared 
his  head. 

Then  he  heard  the  sobbing  of  a  shaken 
man  close  beside  him. 

44  Sir!  Oh,  sir!  The  God  of  Everlastin' 
bless  you,  sir.  Won't  you  come  and  look  at 
him?" 

Batty  lay  quietly;  he  had  put  his  little 
fingers  in  his  father's  hand;  he  did  not  no 
tice  the  stranger.  The  boy's  mother,  pain 
fully  poised  on  one  elbow  in  the  position  that 
mothers  take  when  they  watch  sick  children, 
lay  upon  the  other  side  of  the  bed.  She  was 
27 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

a  large  woman,  with  a  plain,  good  face*  She 
had  on  a  polka-dotted,  blue  cotton  wrapper 
which  nobody  called  a  negligee*  Her  mute, 
maternal  eyes  went  to  the  face  of  the  visitor 
and  reverted  to  the  child. 

There  was  a  physician  in  the  room — a  very 
young,  to  the  trained  eye  an  inexperienced, 
man  ;  in  fact,  the  medical  situation  was  un 
promising  and  complicated*  It  took  Ches 
ter  but  a  few  moments  to  gauge  it,  and  to 
perceive  thai  his  mission  to  this  afflicted 
household  had  not  ended  with  a  lost  night's 
sleep  and  an  automobile  record* 

The  local  doctor,  it  seemed,  was  away 
from  home  when  Batty's  accident  befell;  the 
Gloucester  surgeon  was  ill;  some  one  had 
proposed  the  hospital,  but  the  mother  had 
the  prejudices  of  her  class.  A  neighbor  had 
suggested  this  young  man — a  new-comer  to 
the  town — one  of  the  flotsam  practitioners 
who  drift  and  disappear*  Recommended 
28 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

upon  the  ground  that  he  had  successfully 
prescribed  headache  pills  to  a  Swedish  cook, 
this  stranger  had  received  into  his  unskilled 
hands  the  emergency  of  a  dangerously 
wounded  lad*  The  accident,  in  fact,  was 
more  serious  than  Chester  had  supposed* 
He  had  now  been  told  that  the  child  was 
crushed  by  an  automobile  racing  through 
Annisquam  Willows  the  day  before* 

The  boy.  it  was  plain*  was  sorely  hurt,  and 
ignorant  suffering  lay  at  the  mercy  of  igno 
rant  treatment*  in  the  hopeless  and  helpless 
subjection  to  medical  etiquette  which  costs 
so  many  lives* 

"Dryver,"  said  Chester,  quietly.  "  you 
need  a  surgeon  here  at  once.  Your  physi 
cian  is  quite  willing  to  consult  with  any  one 
you  may  call*"  He  shot  one  stern  glance 
at  the  young  doctor,  who  quavered  a  fright 
ened  assent*  "  I  know  a  distinguished  sur 
geon — he  is  a  friend  of  mine;  it  was  he  who 
29 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

saved  my  boy  in  that  accident  I  told  you  of , 
this  summer*  He  is  not  far  away;  he  is  at 
a  hotel  on  Eastern  Point.  I  can  have  him 
here  in  twenty — well,  say  twenty-five  min 
utes*  Of  course*  we  must  wait  for  him  to 
dress*" 

The  woman  raised  her  head  and  stared 
upon  the  gentleman*  One  swift*  brilliant 
gleam  shot  from  her  heavy  eyes*  She  had 
read  of  angels  in  the  Bible.  She  had  no 
ticed*  indeed,  that  they  were  men  angels. 
Btrt  she  had  never  heard  of  one  in  a  rubber 
touring-coat*  drenched  from  head  to  foot 
with  fog,  spattered  from  foot  to  head  with 
mud,  and  with  a  wedding-ring  upon  his  fine 
hand* 

Jacob  Dryver  began:  "  Sir!  The  God  of 
Everlastin'— "  but  he  sobbed  so  that  he 
could  not  finish  what  he  would  have  said* 
So  Chester  went  out  and  oiled  the  Aurora, 
opened  the  throttle,  and  started  off  again, 
30 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

and  dashed  through  the  rude  streets  of 
Gloucester  to  her  summer  shore* 

Dawn  was  rose-gray  over  Eastern  Point, 
and  the  tide  had  turned  upon  the  harbor, 
when  the  "  Roarer  "  curved  up  quietly  to 
the  piazza  of  the  hotel. 

It  was  rose-gray  upon  Annisquam,  and  the 
tide  was  rising  up  the  river,  when  the  great 
surgeon  went  into  the  little  place  where  the 
lad  lay  fighting  for  his  mangled  life*  There 
had  been  some  delay  in  rousing  the  sleeper 
— it  was  a  trip  of  six  rough  miles  twice  taken 
— and  it  was  thirty-five  minutes  before  his 
"  merciless  merciful "  hands  went  to  work 
upon  the  mortal  need  of  the  boy* 

The  child  had  been  crushed  across  the  hips 
and  body,  and  only  an  experienced  or  only  an 
eminent  skill  could  have  saved  the  little  fellow* 


In   the    blossoming   day   Jacob    Dryver 
limped  out  and  stood  in  the  front  yard  among 
3J 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

his  wife's  flowers  that  Batty  "  bunched  up  " 
and  sold  to  summer  people.  He  could  not 
perceive  the  scent  of  the  flowers — only  that 
of  the  ether.  His  big  boot  caught  in  a  sweet- 
pea  vine  and  tore  it*  One  of  the  famous 
carmine  dahlias  of  Cape  Ann  seemed  to  turn 
its  large  face  and  gaze  at  him* 

An  old  neighbor — a  cross-eyed  lobsterer, 
going  to  his  traps — came  by*  cast  a  shrewd 
look,  and  asked  how  the  boy  was.  Jacob 
did  not  reply  to  the  lobsterer;  he  lifted  his 
wet  eyes  to  the  sky*  then  they  fell  to  a  bed 
of  blazing  nasturtiums*  which  seemed  to 
smoke  before  them*  His  lips  tried  to  form 
the  words  which  close  like  a  strangling  hand 
upon  the  throat  of  the  poor  in  all  the  emer 
gencies  of  life.  Till  he  has  answered  this 
question  a  poor  man  may  not  love  a  woman 
or  rear  a  child;  he  may  not  bury  his  dead  or 
save  his  living. 

"  What  will  it  cost  ?  "  asked  Jacob  Dryver* 
32 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

He  looked  piteously  at  the   great  surgeon, 
whose  lips  parted  to  speak*     Bat  Hurlburt 
Chester  raised  an  imperious  hand. 
44  That/'  he  said,  "  is  my  affair/' 

It  was  broad,  bright  day  when  the  Au 
rora  came  whirring  home*  Chester  nodded 
to  his  wife  at  the  window,  but  went  directly 
to  the  stables*  It  was  a  little  longer  than 
she  expected  before  he  returned.  She 
waited  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  then  hur 
ried  half-way  down  to  meet  him*  Her  white 
robe  was  ungirdled  and  flowing;  it  fell  apart 
— the  laces  above  from  the  laces  below — and 
the  tired  man's  kiss  fell  upon  her  soft  throat* 

She  was  naturally  a  worrier  in  a  sweet- 
natured  way,  but  he  had  always  been  patient 
with  her  little  weakness;  some  men  are,  with 
anxious  women* 

"No,"  he  smiled,  but  rather  feebly; 
"  you've  missed  it  again*  The  boy  is  saved. 
33 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

St.  Glair's  got  hold  of  him.  I'll  talk  pres 
ently,  Mary— not  just  now/' 

In  fact,  he  would  say  no  more  till  he  had 
bathed  and  taken  food*  He  looked  so  ex 
hausted  that  she  brought  his  breakfast  to  his 
bed,  serving  it  with  her  own  hands,  and  ask 
ing  no  questions  at  all;  for,  although  she 
worried,  she  was  wise.  She  sent  for  the 
baby,  too— a  big  baby,  three  years  old— and 
Chester  enfolded  the  chin  of  the  child  in  his 
slender  brown  hand  silently. 

Then  he  said:  "  Lock  the  door,  Mary. 
I've  something  to  tell  you." 

When  she  had  drawn  the  brass  bolt  and 
returned,  somewhat  pale  herself  with  wonder 
and  alarm,  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  her  hus 
band  spoke  abruptly: 

44  Mary,  you've  got  to  know  it — may  as 
well  have  it  over.  I  found  this  pinned  on  the 
stable  wall.  It  was  the  Aurora  that  ran 

over  the — that — that  poor  little  fellow." 
34 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

His  hand  shook  as  he  laid  the  piece  of 
paper  in  her  own.  And  while  she  read  it  he 
covered  his  face;  for  he  was  greatly  over 
worn,  and  the  strain  which  he  had  under 
gone  seemed  now  to  have  leaped  again  with 
the  spring  of  a  creature  that  one  supposes 
one  has  left  lifeless  behind. 

Mrs.  Chester  read  the  writing  and  laid  it 
down.  It  ran  like  this: 

MR.  CHESTER: 

Sir, —  Ime  goin  away  while  I  can.  It  was  me  run 
over  that  boy  while  you  was  in  town.  I  took  Her 
out  for  a  spin.  I  let  Her  out  some  racin  with  an 
other  one  in  the  Willows  an  he  got  under  Her  some- 
ways.  I  see  it  in  the  papers  so  I  was  afraid  of 
manslorter.  Ime  awful  cut  up  about  it  so  Ime  goin 
to  lite  out  while  I  can. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

THOMAS. 

The  eyes  of  the  husband  and  wife  met 
silently*    She  was  the  first  to  speak. 
"  Do  they  know?" 
Chester  shook  his  head* 
35 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

44  You'll  tell  them,  of  course?" 

"  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind/' 

The  baby  was  jabbering  loudly  on  the  bed 

—he  was  very  noisy;  it  was  not  easy  for  her 

to  hear  what  was  said* 
44  I'm  sure  you  ought  to  tell  them!"  she 

cried,  passionately* 
"Perhaps  so*    But  I'd  like  to  think  it 


over*" 


A  subtle  terror  slid  over  her  face*  44  What 
can  they  do  to  you?  I  don't  know  about 
such  things*  Is  there  any — law?" 

44  Laws  enough — laws  in  plenty.  But  I'm 
not  answerable  for  the  crimes  of  my  chauf 
feur*  It's  only  a  question  of  damages*" 

The  wife  of  the  rich  man  drew  a  long 
breath*  44  Oh,  if  it's  nothing  but  money/" 

44  Not  that  it  would  make  any  difference 

if  they  could  touch  me,"  he  continued,  with 

a  proud  motion  of  his  tired  head*    44  It's 

purely  a  question  of  feeling — it's  a  question 

36 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

of  right  within  a  right,  Mary.  It's  to  do 
what  is  really  kind  by  these  people—  Why, 
Mary,  if  you  could  have  seen  it!  From  be 
ginning  to  end  it  was  the  most  beautiful,  the 
most  wonderful  thing.  Nothing  of  the  kind 
ever  happened  to  me  before*  Mary,  if  an 
angel  from  the  throne  of  God  had  done  it — 
they  couldn't  have  felt— they  couldn't  have 
treated  me — it  was  enough  to  make  a  fellow 
a  better  man  the  rest  of  his  days.  Why,  it 
was  worth  living  for,  I  tell  you!  .  .  .  And 
now  to  let  them  know  .  .  ." 

Hurlburt  Chester  was  very  tired,  as  we  say. 
He  choked,  and  hid  his  pale  face  in  his  pil 
low.  And  his  wife  laid  hers  beside  it  and 
cried — as  women  do — without  pretending 
that  she  didn't*  But  the  baby  laughed 
aloud.  And  then  there  drove  through  the 
father's  mind  the  repeated  phrase  which  fol 
lowed  the  race  of  the  "  Roarer  "  all  the  way 
from  Beverly  to  Annisquam: 
37 


A    CHARIOT   OF  FIRE 

"What  if  it  were  Bert?" 

Chester's  head  whirled  yet  from  the  fatigue 
and  jar  of  the  trip,  and  the  words  seemed  to 
take  leaps  through  his  brain  as  the  car 
leaped  when  she  was  at  the  top  of  her  great 
speed.  So  he  kissed  the  child,  and  dashed  a 
drop  from  his  cheek  quite  openly — since  only 
Mary  saw, 

A  constraint  unusual  to  their  candid  re 
lations  breathed  like  a  fog  between  the  hus 
band  and  the  wife;  indeed,  it  did  not  lift 
altogether  as  the  autumn  opened  and  closed, 

Chester's  visits  to  Annisquam  (in  which 
she  once  or  twice  accompanied  him)  were 
many  and  merciful;  and  the  distinguished 
surgeon  took  the  responsibility  of  the  case 
till  the  boy  was  quite  convalescent.  The 
lad  recovered  slowly,  but  St,  Clair  promised 
that  the  cure  would  be  complete. 

The  touching  gratitude  of  Jacob  Dryver 
38 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

amounted  to  an  idealization  such  as  the  com 
fortable,  undramatic  life  of  Chester  had 
never  experienced.  He  seemed  to  swim  in 
it  as  an  imaginative  person  dreams  of  swim 
ming  in  the  air,  tree-high  above  the  heads  of 
the  crowd  on  the  earth*  The  situation  had 
become  to  him  a  fine  intoxicant — but  it  had 
its  reactions,  as  intoxicants  must* 

September  and  October  burned  to  ashes 
upon  the  North  Shore*  Fire  of  maple,  flash 
of  sumac,  torch  of  elder,  flare  of  ivy,  faded 
into  brown  November,  and  the  breakers  off 
the  Beverly  coast  took  on  the  greens  and 
blues  of  north-wind  weather  below  the  line 
of  silver  surf* 

The  Chesters  closed  "  their  own  hired 
house  "  and  moved  to  town*  The  Aurora 
remained  in  her  stable,  nor  had  she  left  it 
since  the  morning  when  she  came  wearily 
back  from  Annisquam* 

His  wife  had  noticed,  but  had  not  seemed 
39 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

to  notice,  that  Chester  rode  no  more  that 
fall.  She  noted  too,  but  did  not  seem  to 
note,  that  he  continued  his  visits  to  the  in 
jured  lad  after  they  had  returned  to  the  city* 

On  all  the  great  holidays  he  made  a  point 
of  going  down — Thanksgiving,  Christmas, 
and  New- Year's  Day.  Mrs.  Chester  had 
wished  to  duplicate  for  the  quarryman's  boy 
the  Christmas  gifts  of  her  own  child  (such 
had  been  her  pretty  fancy),  but  Batty  was 
quite  a  lad — ten  years  old;  and  Bert,  like  a 
spoiled  collie,  was  yet  a  baby,  and  likely  to 
remain  so  for  some  time  to  come.  So  the 
mother  contented  herself,  perforce,  with  less 
intimate  remembrances.  Once,  when  she 
had  packed  a  box  of  miracles — toys  and 
books,  clothes  and  candy — she  thrust  it  from 
her  with  a  cry:  "  They  would  never  touch 
these— if  they  knew!  Hurlburt!  Hurlburt! 
don't  you  think  they  ought  to  know?" 

44  Do  what  you  think  best,  Mary,"  he  said, 
40 


THE    FLOWERS    IN    THE    FRONT    YARD    WERE    KNEE-DEEP 
IN     SNOW 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

wearily.  "  I  have  never  been  able  to  decide 
that  question.  But  you  are  free  to  do  so  if 
you  prefer." 

He  regarded  her  with  an  expression  that 
went  to  her  heart.  She  flung  herself  into 
his  arms  and  tried  to  kiss  it  away. 

Now,  Mary  Chester,  as  we  have  said,  was 
a  worrier,  and  the  worrier  never  lets  a  sub 
ject  go.  As  the  winter  set  in,  her  mind 
closed  about  the  matter  which  had  troubled 
her,  and  it  began  to  become  unbearable,  like 
a  foreign  substance  in  the  flesh. 

On  a  January  afternoon — it  was  one  of 
those  dark  days  when  souls  cloud  over — 
she  flung  on  her  furs,  and  leaving  a  pen 
cilled  line  to  her  husband  saying  what  she 
had  done,  she  took  the  train  to  Gloucester, 
and  a  dreary  electric-car  to  Annisquam. 

The  flowers  in  the  front  yard  were  knee- 
deep  in  snow,  and  Batty  sat  in  the  window 
busy  with  a  Sorrento  wood-saw  of  her  pro- 
4J 


A   CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

viding*  He  laughed  outright  when  he  saw 
her,  and  his  mother  flung  open  the  door  as 
if  she  had  flung  open  her  heart. 

44  Land ! "  she  cried.    "  In  all  this  snow ! 

She  finished  tying  a  fresh  white  apron 
over  her  polka-dotted  blue  wrapper,  and 
joyously  led  the  lady  in* 

Batty  was  a  freckled  little  fellow,  with  red 
hair  like  his  father's;  he  had  the  pretty  im- 
periousness  of  a  sick  and  only  child  who 
has  by  all  the  sorceries  contrived  to  escape 
petulance*  When  he  had  greeted  the  visitor, 
he  ran  back  to  his  jig-saw.  He  was  carving 
camwood,  which  stained  his  fingers  crimson* 

44 1  want  to  see  you — alone,"  began  Mrs* 
Chester,  nervously*  It  had  been  one  of 
Chester's  pleasures  to  warm  the  entire  house 
for  the  convalescent  lad,  and  big  coal  fires 
were  purring  in  Batty's  bedroom  and  in  the 
ten-foot  "  parlor,"  whither  his  mother  con 
ducted  her  guest*  The  doors  were  left  open* 
42 


A    CHARIOT   OF  FIRE 

The  scent  of  the  camwood  came  across,  pun 
gent  and  sickening*  The  fret  of  the  jig-saw 
went  on  steadily* 

44  He's  makin'  a  paper-cutter — for  Mr. 
Chester/'  observed  Batty's  mother*  "He 
made  a  watch-case  last  week — for  Mr* 
Chester/' 

Mary  Chester  paled,  and  she  plunged  at 
once: 

44  There's  something  I've  come  to  tell — 
I've  got  to  tell  you*  We  can't  keep  it  to  our 
selves  any  longer*  I  have  come  to  tell  you 
how  it  happened — that  Batty —  We  thought 
you'd  rather  not  know — " 

44  Lord!  my  dear/'  said  the  quarryman's 
wife* 44  we've  known  it  all  the  while*" 

The  visitor's  head  swam*  She  laid  it  down 
upon  her  gloved  hands  on  Mrs*  Dryver's 
centre-table*  This  had  a  marble  top,  and 
felt  as  the  quarries  look  in  winter  on  Cape 
Ann*  What  were  tears  that  they  should 
43 


A  CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

warm  it  ?  The  sound  of  the  jig-saw  grew  un 
even  and  stopped. 

44  Hush!"  said  the  boy's  mother*  "Batty 
don't  know;  he's  the  only  one  that  don't/' 

She  tiptoed  and  shut  the  doors. 

u  You  never  seen  Peter  Trawl,  did  you? 
He's  a  neighbor — cross-eyed — sells  lobsters 
— well,  it  was  him  picked  Batty  up  to  the 
Willows  that  day.  So  he  seen  the  number 
rtmnin'  away,  an*  so  he  told*  We've  known 
it  from  fust  to  last,  my  dear." 

"  And  never  spoke!"  said  Mary  Chester* 
44  And  never  spoke!" 

44  What's  the  use  of  jabberin'?"  asked 
Batty's  mother*  "  We  thought  Mr*  Ches 
ter  'd  feel  so  bad,"  she  added.  "We 
thought  he  didn't  know." 

The  worrier  began  to  laugh,  then  cry- 
first  this,  then  that;  for  her  nerves  gave  way 
beneath  her*  She  sat  humbly  in  her  rich 
furs  before  the  quarryman's  wife*  She  felt 
44 


A    CHARIOT  OF  FIRE 

that  these  plain  people  had  outdone  her  in 
nobility,  as  they  had  rivalled  her  in  delicacy 
— her,  and  Hurlburt,  too* 

"  Oh,  come  and  see  my  baby!"  she  cried* 
It  was  the  only  thing  that  occurred  to  her 
to  say* 

Now  at  that  moment  Batty  gave  a  little 
yelp  of  ecstasy,  threw  down  his  jig-saw,  and 
got  to  the  front  door*  His  father  was  there, 
stamping  off  the  snow,  and  the  lad's  idol, 
his  ideal,  his  man  angel,  stood  upon  the 
threshold — nervous,  for  an  angel,  and  with 
an  anxious  look* 

But  when  the  two  men  saw  the  women  cry 
ing  together  upon  the  quarry-cold  centre- 
table,  they  clasped  hands  and  said  nothing 
at  all* 


THE  END 


M287883 


Ch 


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